Moving on.

I'm going to try and make sure that I don't end up taking up too much of anyone's time, and my own in fact, in doing this. However, I have been dreading, pondering over, and contemplating this for a good amount of time now, and it is not something that will come easily to me.

I have decided to shut this blog down. I am also afraid of making things more melodramatic than they need to be. Perhaps this is just another trivial insecurity being blown out of proportions by my ego and the events or circumstances that have made it possible, but it is what it is.

Let me present to you a case, then, of why I believe at least a few words should be put down before I decide to finally pull the plug.

Bear in mind, I don't even mean anything permanent. I say this with due retrospect and knowledge that my mood changes like the season. But I have long felt that this blog had turned into something that had been weighing me down.

I know it sounds bad, but it was never due to a single reason, and there's some comfort in that at least.
I made a lot of fond memories because of blogger, and my blog here.

I convinced quite a bunch of people that I was, in fact, someone who could hold attention using words. I even convinced quite a bunch of people to take up writing themselves. Most of which do not continue to write, at least to my knowledge, but a few still do. I have since lost contact with almost all of them, unfortunately, but the memory will remain for as long as I am capable of remembering.

I learned quite a bit, during this whole time. 10 years, to be exact, give or take. I am blown away by that number, now that I've actually counted it on my fingers. 10 years is quite some time.

I learned quite a bit about everything, which makes me happy. I fell in love quite a bunch of times, and it was with quite a bunch of things.

People came, people left. I wrote about almost all of it. I not only learned how to love other people, I eventually learned how to love myself, and I'm still working on it. I have written about my escapades and heartaches several times, I have even written about things I am not too proud of  But it has always been me writing all of it. No matter how high, or how low.

Many things I meant to write, and many things that circumstance and emotion made me write.

I am not aware if most, or any, picked up on the fact that my blog was at many times my truest friend. Even if my truest friend truly resided, and continues to reside, within myself. Sometimes reading myself talk to myself, made myself understand things that the past me just did not see or understand.

It has been therapeutic, perhaps in ways I can not even think of.

I learned how to write, simply because I kept doing it. Whether I was aware of anyone on the other side of the screen reading or not, because somewhere down the road, it turned into something much more to me than just a medium for getting my thoughts across to anyone willing to listen.

I have learned a great deal about myself. I have also realized, that it was the point where I started receiving emails from people I did not even know, telling me how much my words were affecting them across the world.

Be it the times I was going through, which included confronting several of my own demons, or just me trying to find my place in the world. It hasn't been easy, and to be handed a responsibility of sorts, which it surely felt like at the time - even if I'm being grandiose or just naive, was something that only made me nervous about writing, and the messages I was sending out in general.

I have traveled across the globe during the course of the last 10 years, and have only changed several times since then, arguably. It has been a journey.

A journey that included more than a year of going through, almost what feels like a scheduled by the greater design, existential crisis.

I say greater design, because I suspect it to be something people across the world go through after hitting a certain age. And I mean "age," in an unconventional sense; as just a time period in your life.

Obviously not all people go through it, perhaps not even most. But a lot of us do.

Ranging from specifics like, "Who am I really, though?" to sometimes questions as vague as just "why?"

My levels of anxiety spiked at certain times, at certain times I felt like I was going to absolutely lose it. Things got pretty bleak, pretty dark at times. I lost hope a lot, and I sometimes found it too.

For me to try to simplify all the things I have learned, and all the ways I feel I have grown, would be ridiculous to even try to attempt.

I am certain, however, that I have perhaps never felt this comfortable in my own skin before. I am somehow, by my thoughts, brought to the analogy of a snake shedding it's skin to new. It's something I've been feeling for a while, recently.

I am in one of the happier phases of my life, and this is definitely one of the better times to do this.

I am not going to remove or delete the blog, I want all the posts from all the way in 2003, to always remain here. They represent all my transformations and adventures, all the changes I've been through. They include stories that I hold on to just as dearly as the memories themselves.

Tales of people, either arriving or leaving. Tales of misadventures, and upsets. Of victory, and joy.

Pretty good stuff, if I do say so myself. It's been nuts, and I'm glad I had the time to write as much of it down as I could.

If you are here reading this, thank you. I mean it. Somehow, in the back of my head, there has always been an audience reading the words I have been typing down, and it never comprised of just myself. I would not put things up here if I didn't want anyone to read them, even if it was a subconscious decision.

The number of said audience constantly changed, too, but such is life. The only thing permanent in life is change. Honestly, none of this might even have happened, if it wasn't for the fact that there was an audience. Even if it was imaginary at times.

According to Anais Nin, "We write to taste life twice. Once in the moment, and once in retrospect."

I have written for both those reasons too, but there's been a third. I sometimes wrote just to be heard. So, thank you for that.

I do not want to think of this as an end to anything. Instead, I have decided to close a chapter in my book. This only means a new one is going to start.

If you're really creepy like that and know where else I've been writing these days, follow me there, as I continue the experience. If you don't know and would like to know, email me, because I love getting mail from real people. danish989@gmail.com

Much love, and regards.

Dexter...

"So I'll say this. Dexter did pretty well with the finale. I liked how morose it got and applauded the fact that Dexter finally learned what an unintentional destroyer of worlds he was. Enough to make him want to end it all. Of course, he didn't end it all and there's an even bigger tragedy in that, but that shouldn't completely muck up the fact that he finally had a moment of clarity."

- http://www.ign.com/articles/2013/09/23/dexter-remember-the-monsters-review

But, man. Right in the f'n feels.

"As much as I may have pretended otherwise... for so long, all I wanted was to be like other people. To feel what they felt. But now that I do, I just want it to stop."

"Fear makes the wolf look bigger."

Musings from the sky.

Even more musings from the sky, in a plane, and at airports. I slept through most of the journey and didn't end up writing much this time around. Here is what I did end up writing though.

:::

Nothing like some turbulence to shake some sense of morality into you. Not to mention, make you appreciate and marvel at this remarkable feat of engineering and science, what is essentially a huge tin can flying through the sky at ridiculous speeds.

I'm also looking forward to a little disorientation induced by what I can only gather to be all the drugs wearing off and extreme jet lag. How else do you explain feeling like a tourist in your own 'home town?' (Other than the obvious.)

Your own house where you spent 8 months just 5 months ago.

Around the world like a daft punk song. With all the sore muscles and a general disregard and indifference to culture.

Waffles for breakfast in Philadelphia, Eggs Benedict for lunch in London. Biryani, perhaps, for dinner in Riyadh.

A quote from Fight Club that I've heard quite a few times but only recently actually read in the book has suddenly taken new meaning.

"If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?"

It's like the feeling of being in limbo, just floating in empty space. That is how traveling feels to me. Especially at airports where I'm not worried about keeping face, or "the Romans."

The feeling of being no where in particular. In transit for a whole day.

:::

That is all, really. I slept through most of the journey, I've gotten too comfortable with it. It's actually a good thing.

It's "me," time and it's not possible for anything else to get in the middle of it.

Unless a "single-serving friend," on the seat next to me decides to be chatty. Like the lady visiting her daughter in London was on the way there. We talked about the world, and men beating their chests and everything being just a pissing contest over territory.

There was the guy at the airport that I talked to for a single minute, asking if I could have the seat at the bar.

There was the airport employee in Philadelphia that thought it would funny to comment on how cold it is in Riyadh when it obviously isn't.

And that's that, really. There's been other random nonsense that I've been contemplating blogging about. Perhaps later?

Ciao, world.

This song is the bee's knees. Get Free by Major Lazer ft. Amber Coffman of Dirty Projectors.

I might be in love with this woman, she sounds like the stuff angels must be made of.

Yeaaah, if she could just lull me to sleep at nights, that would be great, mmm'kay?

You're going to be all right.
Trust me.

Even if I'm not sure.

It's been an amazing year so far, and I just had the best 3 day birthday.

Hopefully I can wake up and remember enough to write about it.

Damn. Today was a good day.

24

Damn.

I'm chilling here in my obliterated state, and I don't know what to say.

Shit is so different though, it's crazy. It's like the exact opposite of last year, I can't contain the giddy-ness.

Man.

I need to do this again later, there's just too much going on.

I actually just witnessed and somehow even involuntarily participated in a "friendly," and unintentional DDoS attack on a website that was recently discovered and is on the frontpage of Reddit right now.

Technology and the connected world. I mean, damn, this shit is barnacles, huh?

There's also suggestions in the comments section of the thread about calling it things, but they revolve around the hive mentality of Reddit that kind of creeps me out.

This isn't the first time this has happened, though. I've seen servers crumble under the weight of a collective all trying to access the same website simultaneously before.

It's funny, because in a "normal," everyday situation you would only expect a server to fail or not come through when the website isn't popular enough, and therefore not funded sufficiently.

However, in this case, it's popularity that causes the server to break down in a metaphorical tired sweat.

The subject page, by the way, is: Diy.org/skills

It's a step closer to turning our lives into a "RPG." That's "role playing game," in case you haven't been keeping up with the video game industry.

Reminds me of this surreal short film I saw on YouTube some time ago about a technologically advanced world some time in the future. I'm conflicted as to whether or not to call it a dystopian future, but consider the fact that we're constantly connected to the internet in our brains.

Let me elaborate a bit. Have you heard of Google Glass yet? It's basically a pair of shades that provide the wearer with a HUD. I've just realized I don't know if there's internet connectivity, but I can see 3G or at least WiFi being a part of the experience. I mean, definitely, considering you will be able to upload pictures that you've taken using the glass on to, well, some picture service provided by Google, I'm assuming at this point.

But in this short film, there's no accessory on your face, the HUD is all part of your vision. Something embedded in the brain, on the lens of the human eye? I'm not sure, but the point was, everything turns into a game.

While you're chopping vegetables and making eggs, there's an experience meter filling up right in front of your eyes. You're getting better at things in real time, like it always was, but this time you're witnessing the growth or rate of change, as it is taking place.

You are literally witnessing "experience," as you gain it.

Talk about shit that is barnacles.

This doesn't just range to sliding an egg around on a frying pan, or "consuming media," (also see; watching television,) while staring at a blank wall. This also encompasses such fields as relationships/dating, and other social interactions. You have at your disposal the handy "wingman," app that you can pull up and run while you're sitting across the table from your date. So you know exactly what to say, and when to say it.

You can pull up your date's "social networking" website's "profile page," and figure out all his or her likes and dislikes.

The funny thing about most of this is, it isn't even far from the truth or the present human experience. Life, this one, in the present.

The only brilliant thing is, they've taken the metaphorical "dating game," and portrayed the idea as more concrete, more literal.

You tell me whether that's dystopian or not.

I can not remember what the short film was called, and as kind of a cruel game I'm not even going to attempt to look it up to link to it here. I'm not about that life right now.

Will life ever be as good as it once was?

Will I ever stop living in the past, worrying about the future, and start appreciating the present?

Will I ever accept things and just move on?

All this and more, in the life of daanish.

Fuck, I need to get out of this rut.

Let's talk music because somehow I can describe how I've been feeling very well using it.

I was never a big fan of Radiohead, but then I heard this jazz cover of "Paranoid Android," by Brad Mehldau. Replacing the vocals with a piano adds to the overall haunting feel of the song, and I actually prefer it over the original.

Especially after the 5:20 mark, when the music has slowed down as if to implore you to pay more attention.

"Baby, say you'll remember...
I will love you till the end of time."

This song sends a shiver down my spine. Injects me with a dose of melancholy, too, but I don't mind.

About walking out on the dream/out of the door, and the Late 70s', early 80s' for some odd reason. "Blue Jeans," right? About cigarettes and white tshirts and black thick rimmed sunglasses.

About being young and in love, and the first brush with it. About making so many mistakes you can only ask yourself how you could be so, "young and foolish."

Aah. About willing to risk it all and not look back, never ever.

About going all in, and willing to put everything on the line. Being careless by design, experiencing being free, trying to explore the limit, willing to be ... reckless.

Aah. About making so many mistakes, that you'll never make again.

It just can't happen, you just can't let it happen. You now know better.

Somehow, that takes the magic of it away, too though. Doesn't it?

The magic that was bundled with not knowing how any of it actually worked, or what exactly was going to happen. The thrill of that, the rush.

Growing up makes us make more concrete decisions, look further ahead on the field. Because we've already made all the fun mistakes, we've learned how to be more careful.

I am going to miss being careless.

I'm turning 24 soon, and these are the kind of things I've got to say for myself, still. Ha.

Bluebird, Charles Bukowski

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

Variations on the word "Sleep," Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head 

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear 

I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

Nothing Gold can Stay, Robert Frost

 Nature's first green is gold,
 Her hardest hue to hold.
 Her early leafs a flower;
 But only so an hour.
 Then leaf subsides to leaf.
 So Eden sank to grief,
 So dawn goes down to day.
 Nothing gold can stay.

So I go on asking if maybe one day you’ll care.
I tell my sad little dreams to the soft evening air.
I am quite hopeless it seems.
Two things I know how to do.
One is to dream,
Two is loving you.

A tiger doesn't lose sleep

over the opinion of sheep.

Woke up after only 4 hours of sleep,

for a final,

only to reason a minute ago that it's tomorrow, not today.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

I'm in my motherfucking rain boots and shit sitting here like, what?

Fuck.

Lest I forget,

  don't panic. 

Man, fuck life.

Seriously, fuck this bullshit.

I hate to fall back onto old habits and shit, but damn, seriously, universe?

Work in mysterious ways and all that shit, but come the fuck on.

Please? Please stop fucking with me? I'm begging you at this point, I'm on my knees and desperate.

Another one bites the dust.

But at least this one counts on that fucked up list you provided, with the specific criteria.

This one's seemingly way worse than even things from the past, though. And that's a big deal.

I guess this is just another test. Was.

"And every girl that I walk around,
seems to be more of an illusion than the last one that I found.

Oh well."

Daanish Arif Oh, and my brother wants credit for this picture, because he took it, and he thinks he's an amazing photographer capturing life and simplicity in the midst of Capitalism in the most ironic of places - Makkah. My words, not his.

This is only half of my life. The one I have been living here.

Complete with a different personality, no sense of belonging in the back of my head, and independence without choice.

Not so black and white, of course, but that's the gist of it.

This is only half of my life, the other half is lived elsewhere.

To a culture completely different, with interactions completely different and a personality completely different. The dynamics of my behavior change, the dynamics of my relationships with people change.

I want different things, I strive for different things and I aim to achieve and attain different tasks, goals and accomplishments. Depending on the norm, depending on what everyone else seems to be doing, and depending on whatever is deemed more important by the respective society.

I just have to do as the Romans do.

That will never change. Neither side of the equation will get to see what the other side looks like, and this is by design. Mostly by design.

I generally like being accepted by people in both lives, and I want to keep it that way. The alienation, culture shock and snapping in and out of character should be my own burden to carry and no one else's. Neither can I tell how anyone will react to indulging and finding out about my other existence, so it is perhaps something best left untouched. It has been working so far, if you can call it 'working.'

This may never change.

They say there's the part of you, or side of you, that's always hidden from the rest of the world. I suppose I have three, then, two hidden at all times, depending on where I am.

This, perhaps, makes it harder for people who are trying to connect on a level above just "acquaintance."

You can't be told everything that goes in this head, obviously. But it's not just things I hide from everyone in the world, it's the other life.

Do you think this makes it harder? Probably.

But this too is my own burden to carry. My own insecurities perhaps, nothing anyone else should bother with.

We're all hiding something or the other, but it's a little different when we're different people without people's knowledge.

Especially those who think they know you well, or want to. But it's not easy to make the drapery fall, or make it all go away.

It's not easy to part from a defense mechanism so established and enforced over the times. Something so concrete and existent on many more levels than just the conscious.

Something that seems so necessary and important. As to not alienate and drive people away by things they don't understand.

The irony shouldn't be lost on anyone then, when the exact opposite ends up happening.

Like the legend of the phoenix.

I'm sure you've already heard, but Daft Punk with Pharrell Williams happened. Made me actually get into Daft Punk, who would've thought.

I'm up all night to get lucky. So relatable.

I think I'm gonna get a phoenix tattoo.

This is my life.

From piece to piece, clothes and shoes scattered everywhere. Just like my thoughts, it's funny how that works.

From nights of drinking to days and days. They've all seemingly blurred together.

There's things all over the place, my bed is still on the floor. Wood, pieces of the bed, right next to the wall. I manage to end up hitting my leg or her arm on it every now and then. We get too carried away.

I guess she must like it. Same thing, over again, huh?

Brilliant under achiever with the bed hair, and the fuzzy facial hair with drug problems and a disturbing past.

Apparently, there's always someone willing to partake, willing to discover and maybe even hopefully change. Somehow turn things around.

What seemingly goes un-noticed is the fact that this is what you sign up for. You don't get to complain about something you signed up for. Perhaps that's what brings about the will for abandonment and desire to desperately get out later in life. Huh.

It always starts out the same, though.

There are so many things running through my head, but this medium has been compromised. It is beautifully unfortunate that we're still playing games with each other.

I'm sending out encrypted and vague messages, and you have the excuse of boredom you're still using to hang on. To "reach out."

Imagine the weight on my chest when I see a tree that has just blossomed and it reminds me of the things the girl before you used to say to me on the phone. I understand now, I know exactly what she meant. How hard it is to move on.

And when the new girl puts her hands on my chest and feels my heart beat, I wonder if she can feel all the weight and heaviness.

I remember feeling the same way about you. Uncertain, and skeptical. Scared and unwilling. So vulnerable, and unconsciously sabotaging things.

It didn't work though. Perhaps it never does.

...

But I'm comfortable with the idea of not having choice now.

I just hope she doesn't feel the worry lines that appear on my forehead when our foreheads inevitably touch.

Just hope she doesn't try to dig too deep into the way my eyes drift off into the distance and my mind wanders off into the past.

The cup I still drink out of, the lava lamp that's still my night light and the comforter we use to stay warm when we're falling asleep in each other's arms.

The boxes I still keep, physical and metaphorical.
The pictures, the little pieces of seemingly nothing and the memory.

The cheesecake she's going to bake me and the Skype calls she's going to be waiting on.

I'd like to believe things have changed.

Here's a blurry picture of a damn ferret. 

"The past is a gaping hole. You try to run from it, but the more you run, the deeper, more terrible it grows behind you, its edges yawning at your heels. Your only chance is to turn around and face it. But it's like looking down into the grave of your love, or kissing the mouth of a gun, a bullet trembling in its dark nest, ready to blow your head off."
- Max Payne

tbc. 

I always kill the things I love.

It's amazing how listening to music that you used to listen to back in the day is able to remind you of the times you first heard it. The things you were feeling, and all that.

Like the L.A. Noire official soundtrack.

The game was based in 1947, and the music was all 50s' jazz. When wearing fedoras was cool, and not exclusive to hipsters.

I've grown a fascination for the 50s', I've realized. Or have had one for a while, I don't know. The jazz, the fashion sense, the cars. Things like L.A. Noire (actually inspired by L.A. Confidential,) and other Martin Scorsese movies.

Reminds me of happy days. Being back home for the summer, being madly in love, and generally content with life...

At the same time, and coincidentally enough, also a part of the soundtrack is this jazz song called "I always kill the things I love."


"I love the chase, 'til the minute I win it
A beautiful face 'til there's love for me in it
Give me your heart and baby I'll bill it
'cause I always kill the things I love"

"The look in your eyes will turn to surprise

As you feel the pain and you realize

The one hurting you is somebody who

Once said 'I love you'"

We have to set up a website with a link to running this FPS called "Urban Terror," for our "Network Technologies," class.

I suggested we make an awesome looking website and call it "Turban Error." With a guy wearing a turban, and an 'error' sign on his shirt or something.

"That sounds a bit racist," says Alex.

"Not if I'm doing it, it isn't. Just put my name on there, and we're good to go."

Laughing at "things" makes "things" a little more fun.

Edit: We got 5 extra points just because we made the website a little better looking than most people. Yay.

I want a fucking chocolate chip muffin right now.

That is all.

"Girlfriends."

Holy shit. The song "Cupid's Chokehold" is all about this guy's low self esteem and how he's always "falling in love," to compensate for his lack of self esteem. Jesus Christ, drugs are a hell of a drug.

"I know I'm young, but if I had to choose her or the sun, I'd be one nocturnal son of a gun."

"Take a look at my girlfriend,
She's the only one I got.
Not much of a girlfriend.
I never seem to get a lot. "

The only one I have.

Loneliness? So you cling on to the next person that comes along giving you that little bit of attention that's just sufficient.

Not much of a girlfriend. She's pretty fucking horrible to him. But she's there.

The song is this guy talking to his parents. A phone call, maybe even a letter?

"It's been some time since we last spoke,
This is gonna sound like a bad joke
But momma I fell in love again
It's safe to say I have a new girlfriend."

Oh, parents. Accept your son for who he is, and he knows you'll love him unconditionally. So he's about to make another mistake, all over again.

"I mean she even cooks me pancakes
And Alka Seltzer when my tummy aches
If that ain't love then I don't know what love is"

"It's been a while since we talked last
And I'm tryin' hard not to talk fast
But dad I'm finally thinkin' I may have found the one
Type of girl that'll make you way proud of your son"

Not to mention how he's always trying to impress his dad and prove himself to him. 

"Call it dumb, call it luck, call it love or whatever you call it
But everywhere I go I keep her picture in my wallet, like."

Ha. Love that line so much, I even did it.

"Tere liye main le loon, dunya se beir, piya."

"Beir" meaning Inimicalness.

And, from the internet we find:
Hostility (also called inimicality) is a form of angry internal rejection or denial in psychology.

I really like the version where Devdaas decides to stay with Chandramukhi, rather than shriveling up and dying outside of Paro's door.

Does that make sense?

I've realized Devdaas is just Narcissist in Love.

It's the story of a man controlled by his ego, and his self loathing.

The narcissism in direct correlation with the self loathing, in direct correlation with the substance abuse and trying to run after what he can't have while judging what he can have.

I had a whole theory going, and now I can't remember it. Shit.

And now, something depressing from the depths of Reddit.

"We were in a love hate relationship. We both loved her and hated me."

I still feel great though, it's weird.

What's the point, anyway, right?

This blog post started with the following sentence:
I still have my moments of weakness.

I'm choosing to end it with:
Then I say "fuck that," and start being awesome instead.

You can make up your own filler for in between at this point, but my end justifies my means, right?

Specialization is for insects.

A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.  

- Robert A. Heinlein

Just make her laugh.

So I send this chick a link to a youtube video on facebook, right.

I was being funny, too, I made a few jokes before sending her some stand up to be comedic in my place for me. In hindsight, that's not a bad idea, is it?

Girls like funny men, so you just send her some stand up comedy. It's like stoning two birds with one joint:

1) It tells her that you have a good f'n sense of humor. I mean, why wouldn't it, that clip you just sent her is fucking brilliant, right?

2) The stand up comedian's fulfilling the funny prerequisite for you. It's like someone else going to take your exam for you. And this guy, he's been studying in front of a mirror and writing those funny one liners down and shit. You're going to do really well on the test.

And well, she didn't reply for a few minutes. That's where this whole blog post comes in, I've come across another one.

Was it a bad idea to send stand up comedy out of nowhere? Fuck that, I was being spontaneous.

But if it was that. Well, I'm just going to have to bring it up the next time I see her.

"So, uh, hey! Did you ever end up watching that clip I sent you?"

She looks confused and it'll probably be obvious that she didn't.

"Oh, you didn't. Well, you really missed out. It was some pretty funny shit, I was really, uh .. I was really hoping you would comment on it's brilliance, you know?"

I could maybe even holler to one of my boys that I've already shown the video to, and ask them to back me up.

"Yo, Yared! You remember that video? Right? Haha, yeah. Tell her about the video!"

One of my boys would probably be ready to be called to wingman duty, because come on. Bro code? 

And yeah, that's how it would play out. I can see it right now.

Huh. Do you think that kind of overkill daydreaming causes any sort of hindrance to my prospects?

Oh, never mind. I just got a reply on Facebook. 

Every season felt like spring.

There are some memories that are etched in my brain, and whenever they come back, the feeling's always prevalent.

I remember exactly what it felt like, and it's almost like reliving it. That's usually how memories work, but the kind I'm talking about hit the senses a lot harder.

This one memory I'm specifically talking about is from quite some time ago.

To be accurate, probably around 3 years ago. 2009, yes. I'd say it was around November or December. Or was it around January or February of 2010? I have the hardest time recalling details regarding time. I remember most other things a lot more vividly.

I remember waking up every day, and feeling the happiest I have ever felt.

Yes, the happiest I've ever felt.

It's not an exaggeration and I know that's exactly how I felt, because I still remember clearly.

I'd wake up for class with the sun shining through my window. That can be any season in Philadelphia, which makes it harder to remember the exact time. Late 09, early 10, I'm sticking with that.

I'd wake up with the sun shining through my windows, I'd remember that I 'now' had 'everything I had been waiting for my entire life.'

Perhaps not much, because I was relatively and considerably younger back then. It sure did feel like I had, at that point, everything I was waiting for.

I was in a land still foreign, I had not discovered as much of it as I have now. I hadn't reached the point where I started regarding it as "home," in conversations and in my subconscious.

I was starting to fall in love. Madly in love. It wasn't full blown yet, but in the back of my head I knew it was starting to happen. That's what made it special, I guess, it was like foreplay.

It might have been the early quarter of 2010 ...

It was to that startling realization that I would wake up those days.

It was this enthralling thought that I would, without doubt, be seeing someone later during the day who I'd spend most of my other time wanting to see.

What my first few adventures on the journey to the rest of my life were meant to be leading up to. At least in my head.

It sounds corny on paper, it's a lot more comical in my head now too, in fact. But it was pretty fucking awesome. How am I supposed to forget a memory so... too good to just forget?

Spending those warm, sunny days, staring into pupils that were staring right back into mine, as if searching for something deep down inside me.

Gleaming in the sunlight, reflecting it right back for my eyes to feed on them and be willing to live off it. Golden brown, like they had been baked in the sun, and generously big and round, just enough for me to have a joy ride whenever we locked eyes.

As if, just as startled as me. Like a baby kitten or lion cub coming across something it has never seen before, and is surprised even exists.

It could have also been nearing the end of April, beginning of May ... two thousand and ten.

I remember spending a lot of days after that getting familiar with the scent of someone that had made it past everything and everyone else so far. Indulging in it, basking in it, making it mine. Making it so my heart would become more generous with it's labor, and I'd get lightheaded every time I encountered it.

A lot of nights too.

All subconsciously, too, we're seldom paying enough attention to such things to notice them.

The grass suddenly grew greener. The sky, more blue. The clouds came out to compliment the sunlight more often too. The wind blew more gently, and felt more soothing. I felt more alive than I ever had before.

That was definitely May... a little of June.

I still remember the shared verbal confirmation. Or acknowledgement of the fact.

Ha. I have recalled that specific moment several times between then and now.
Some people were even fortunate (or unfortunate) enough of hearing the tale, narrated by me in one of my most vulnerable moments: of intoxication.

That ones not going anywhere.

That's just what it was, though. Vulnerability. Like a cat laying down on it's back and letting you pet it's tummy. Submitting willingly, letting the rising tide swallow me whole. Swallow us whole.

That was definitely August - September, twenty ten.

I had also just discovered Scheherazade, that amazing piece of music based on the Arabian tales, by Russian composer: Rimsky Korsakov. Our favorite set was "The young Prince and Princess," a very apt name for the kind of romanticism Korsakov was aiming for. Perfect, as if the words, the feeling, and the music were all created in the seventh heaven, and therefore shared their intent.

And "Wicked Games," by Chris Isaak. Of course. That wasn't even the most cliche thing of all, though. A journal I was keeping back then, and still have, reminds me I got to make out to Nirvana in the background, too.

The waves felt a little more frightening all of a sudden. And young, careless, unsure. Uncertain and a little scared. Like jumping into a body of water, not realizing how deep it really is. It suddenly felt a lot more deeper, a little more unforgiving.

We saw it coming. From miles and miles away. I know we did, we could see it in each other's eyes. But it would be much more poetic to ride the wave, it wasn't really a choice anymore.

I suppose. This is perhaps best classified and left at as "speculation."

It was the year 2010.

And it was, well, it was really something.
One heck of a time. Some really crazy shit.

The good stuff, really. The stuff happiness is made of. It was amazing, and I can't consider myself anything but fortunate.

I mean, hey, life was pretty damn good to me. It has been, it really has. I may forget that every now and then, the present is always more overwhelming and for good reason. We shouldn't stay hung up on the past anyway, most of it is often coupled and followed by regret.

But hey. It can't be too bad to remember how great some things can feel, and hope you get to see it again. Gives you more reason to look forward to it, and appreciate it more.

Steam Powered Honeybee.

A band called "Steam Powered Giraffe," has this song called "Honeybee."

There doesn't exist a good audio version on youtube, so I'll have to link to the video. Although personally, I find the official video to be a little distracting, especially from the quality of the music.

Which is definitely owed to their gimmick, they dress up in accordance with the standards proposed by the Steampunk community, in case you hadn't noticed. Not to be confused with cyberpunk, at all, please.

If you don't know what that is, or either of those things are, go google them or something.

Though, don't let any of my bias hinder your ability to go in to the song without any ... of, well, my bias. I mean, go into the song without prejudice. Aah.

I especially like the part where they go; "I was waiting for you all my life."

Yeah, buddy.

Dev D.

Spoilers. There's a lot of spoilers up ahead.

Saw "Dev D," recently.

It's a modern representation of the classic tale of Devdas. It's one of the several remakes, the only difference here being, it's set in present time.

So instead of abusing alcohol by itself, Dev from this one has the luxury of adding cocaine and pills to the self destruction.

It was an eye opening and surprising glimpse into the venture of Bollywood towards realism and tasteful drama, as opposed to it's usual escapades with over amplified melodrama and huge list of cliche's. It was also pretty darn relatable.

So, there's "Paro," right. The love of "Dev's" life?

They fall apart though, pretty early on too. Something about both of them having huge insecurity issues. Also, their egos are too big to fit in the same room at times, so there's that constant collision of their spiritual beings on the celestial plane (or whatever the fuck.)

But they were lovers at a point and what not, you know? So it takes them a bit to get over that little piece of information.

I mean, Dev goes in to his drug fueled depression because he doesn't have Paro anymore. Paro goes ahead and gets married to someone else, within like, a week. Seriously. Like, two to three scenes away from her falling out with Dev. Yeah, just like that.

But anyway. It's safe to say they have a falling out.

So he starts drinking and doing cocaine a lot, and also hangs out with some pretty shady people. One of them is a pimp, who introduces him to ... uh ... a European girl with a backstory, who likes bollywood, so she takes up the alias "Chanda."

As in "Chandarmukhy." The original ... uh ... what were they even called, back in the day? Oldest profession and all, but do I need to use the old word to be politically correct, or what? How does this intellectual writer shit work, I ask myself sometimes.

She danced a bit and slept with dudes for money. Basically.

Her backstory though, she's like, European Indian or something, and her family throws her out because she gets intimate with a dude, and it's a really long shaming story, I really don't want to go into the details. I mean, that further into detail, anyway.

So yeah. She becomes a prostitute. (Obviously, there's a bunch of more interesting shit that goes on in the transition period from a. to b.  but I'm distracted by Method Man talking like his lips are numb, in the background.)

But Dev meets Chanda, she's super nice to him and shit. While he tries to get back with, whats-her-face, the first one. The one and only, har har.

She comes to see him and shit, and his room is a mess (fucking d'uh, he's depressed and shit. She doesn't rub it in his face more, and say he's just being a drama queen and shit, like some people would. She's not that cruel, clearly.)

But she actually cleans him up and shit, I mean relatively at least. She doesn't hook his body up to any medical equipment to pump out all the good stuff or anything like that, but she cleans up his apartment.

Oh, also, they get reaaaal close to getting jiggy with it. I mean, having sex. I mean, well, they were about to, before Paro's all like, fuck that, I ain't into it any more. Although, I did imply or hint at the idea that I might be willing to cheat on my husband right here with you... in this random ass hotel, with all these beer bottles and other ridiculous shit around us. But no, I changed my mind.

Well, Dev's like, all right, you sucked anyway. He's still chill though.

It's when she gets to the damn door, and says something so fucked up to Dev, that he just loses it. I mean, I'm not siding with Dev or anything, don't get me wrong.

But, she says the exact thing that is required to drive him over the fucking edge. To really, really make him mad. Something that really pushes his button.

Well, d'uh, she fucking knows Dev like the back of her hand. She's trying to hurt him, for some fucked up psychological reason that is unbeknownst to me, and she knows exactly what to say to poke that metaphorical needle through his spine. So she does.

He flips it, in typical fashion. I mean, why wouldn't he, right, what else can he do? Come up with something bitchier to say? No, he doesn't do that, he's probably still hungover anyway.

So he just yells and throws her out, tells her to fuck off or something.

Here's the ridiculous shit though, Paro starts fucking crying as she starts to walk back home. Like, what the fuck? What the fuck is that?

I guess that's one of the big questions that the movie raised for me and I just don't understand.

So, clearly, she's sad. Which is exactly what I don't get it, I don't understand why she's sad. She was a total bitch to Dev just a minute ago, right? I mean, she very apparently and blatantly want to hurt him. How was she not expecting to get lashed at then? What did she think he was going to do, smile and ask her to fuck off in a kinder manner?

Is she just upset at herself that things didn't work out, and she's constantly reminded of that so she lashes out in the only way she sees right in front of her?

Is she just hurt because she thinks things could have worked out before if Dev wasn't such an idiot? (She needs to get a grip on reality if that's the case though, because, uh, takes two hands to clap and shit? You know? You need to put in some effort too? Etc, etc?)

Is she sad because she actually doesn't want to go back home to her husband and wishes she could somehow go back in time, and make shit work with Dev, or just stay at the hotel without being classified as a horrible person?

And those are just some of the reasons I can come up with. But the truth is this:

I don't fucking know.

That one scene and that one thought process of Paro's symbolizes a huge aspect of my relationship with women.

Those four words, in fact, sum up a lot of it by themselves. I just don't fucking know.

Like, what's going on in Paro's head right there? It's some ridiculous mystery to me.

It's like the Moriarty to my Sherlock. Really. Gets me every time.

Anyhow, Dev continues to go buck wild, and ride the lightning. Until he bites the bullet. (I can go on with these forever.) Which he finally does and shit goes very, very horrible for him.

He finally realizes, perhaps because he's off of drugs after a really long time, that he should have just stuck with Chanda because she actually took care of him and didn't judge him.

You know, because she knows what it's like, being judged and shit. Everyone else does that to her, except Dev, so she's intrigued by that. She also knows that only someone that doesn't like themselves can be someone that don't even bother judging anyone else.

Or, no, actually, it's probably the other way around. Maybe he doesn't like himself, so he ends up constantly judging everyone else? Right? That makes sense?

What is it then, that makes Chanda fall for Dev D?

My god, here we go again.

The point is, he gives up trying to beat a dead horse, and trying to kill himself in the process, and ends up happily ever after with Chanda. Who hopefully gives up prostitution, because Dev's ego can't stand his lover with another dude, as it is.

I mean, finally. It's a hell of a journey though, and the fun being in the journey - not the destination. That kinda thing.

And yeah, pretty interesting. Really good cinematography, too. It's very refreshing, and displays a new age of filmmakers in the third world that are taking advantage of things like globalization and international standards.
They actually end up doing some pretty interesting things that seem very experimental, and in a good way, add to the appeal of this "remake."

I know, it's a pretty old movie by now, I don't know why I'm doing this shit review of it now. Or displaying my amusement by the portrayal of the human condition and pining for love and shit.

But yeah, I've been thinking of writing about things I enjoy more. So there. Maybe I'll do "Looper" next, because I finally saw it last night and fucking loved it. Added to my list of favorite movies? I think so.

Love, happiness, and neat little circles.

It's been absolutely wonderful being back in Philadelphia.

Running into people on the street that didn't know you were back and seeing the genuine happiness in their eyes that they can't control because they're so happy to see you? Amazing.

Hearing from a friend that a room full of people jumped up in exclamation knowing you were back? Pretty darn amazing.

But the most amazing by far, are the people that you only ran into every now and then. People that you only know because they work the register or counters at places you bought things at. Small grocery stores, seven elevens. Absolutely amazing.

This lady you always struck up a conversation with when you went in to get a sandwich, and she still remembers you because of how nice you were and have been to her.

More amazing and astounding though, the guy at the small petrol station next to your house about 2 years ago. Yes, 2 years ago. He gives you a weird look and recognizes you almost immediately.

"You're the guy that was always here! I remember you, and thought you looked familiar. I remember you told me you were from Saudi Arabia, you were always here with your girlfriend!"

Ouch. Yeah, she died.

"Where have you been? Never see you anymore?"

Oh, dude, where do I even begin? First off, it's been around 2 years. I've been around the world and back, and not just metaphorically. Those are two huge reasons I haven't been around.

Amazing. Makes me feel/think that I must be doing something right. No, it reinforces that thought and feeling. The want to be nice to people, the warm fuzzy feeling you get in return. The fact that people remember you even years after you saw them, and get genuinely happy to see you again.

Guy that works at a petrol station. Who I hadn't seen in forever. Seriously.

We don't really ever do anything in selflessness, it's quite impossible. Makes being nice even more worthwhile.

Also makes me think how people that have claimed otherwise about me were either too fucking stupid, too insecure about themselves or just didn't care at all either way. Happy realization, though?

So here's a tip, world: smile at people you see today. And tomorrow. And the day after. In fact, go nuts, do it every day.

Nothing beats being loved. Being loved is a luxury, and it's even more amazing when you receive it from people who have not much to gain in offering it to you.

It all comes around in a neat little circle, the universe takes care of the intrinsic and complicated mathematics involved that we don't have to worry about. Call it Karma, makes it easier to understand and process, with a neat little definition for everyone to understand. We are the world around us, etc.

These are happy times and they feel surreal. Like a polished glaze of ice that I'm too scared to touch because I think I'll end up shattering it.

But that's a horrible form of confirmation bias that I have been given the task of getting over. Just a small fee for feeling so on top of the world, though, right? Such a small fee, and I've already paid for much bigger pains and troubles.

I be aaaaite. End of transmission.

In the Mausoleum.

This is an amazing song called "In the Mausoleum," by Beirut off of their album "The Flying Club Cup."

Especially love the violin at the 1:37 mark.

There's a hint of Middle Eastern romanticism in that sound. The gently weeping violin, I can't get over it.

Something so significant about the violin and it's ability to wrench my heart and make my chest feel heavy.

Musings from a mattress on the floor.

It's been a while, which makes it even harder to blog right now.

Because I've been busy, and kept procrastinating on doing this, now there's just a ridiculous amount to talk about. I haven't felt this overwhelmed with things to write about in a while. I would have to start all the way at a month ago, which is what makes this kind of a head scratchy moment.

So, a month's gone by since I got back to Philly. After a ridiculous amount of uncertainty on whether or not it was really going to end up happening or not, a lot of obstacles and nervousness, I finally made it. Add 22 hours of travel, and you have that adventure summed up.

The reason I never got around to another installment of "Musings from the sky," is because I lost my journal I was transcribing my thoughts in right at the last moment. I had it at the airport in Riyadh, jotted down a bunch of hilarity on the 7-ish hour flight to Heathrow. Wrote some more in the 8 hours spent in Heathrow, and then a bunch more on the 7-ish hour flight to Philadelphia. There was a bunch of stuff in there, I obviously don't remember much of it at this point. How ironic though, to lose it in the taxi cab that brought me to my final destination? At least I think that's where I dropped it.

Final destination of travel being my ex roomate's couch, of course. A month of sleeping on that monstrosity, oh boy. A whole another test in of itself.

Not to mention the initial shenanigans that I was subjected to, namely registering for classes within 48 hours. At Community College, mind you. Some have had better luck finding needles in haystacks.

But I made it, like I always have. Always do?

Don't call it a come back. Well, do call it that though, actually... because things felt so different after finally being here again. No amount of preparing myself and bracing myself according to expectations really... helped. When you're finally faced with the shit you've been bracing yourself for, for the past 8 months or so, it's like being blindsided.

Finally moved, though. Have a room, a completely new place. New people. Change can be ... unnerving. Uncertainty seldom isn't. This has been pleasant, however. Something I'm looking forward to, something I've been looking forward to. I mean, obviously. One does not simply turn their lives around. Or attempt to, anyway.

And uh, that's that, I guess? Kinda unfortunate I can't remember any of the funny shit I wrote down, especially because I kinda enjoy the whole "musings from a plane" thing. It was kinda like, my thing, you know? A habit, a routine. And we're creatures of habit... or routine.

Oh well. Gotta figure out if this queen sized fucking bed can be put back together or not. Oh, that's right, my damn bed broke. "Get a queen sized bed," she said. Oh, so much fun for a college student whose always moving. Great f'n idea.

Holla at cha boi. That is all. End of transmission.

This is amazing. Lucid Dreaming and what not.

ZILD is a lucid dreaming induction app that uses the Zeo EEG headband. If anyone has seen "Inception" or "Waking Life", you kind of have an idea of what lucid dreaming is about.

When the Zeo headband detects the wearer is in REM sleep, ZILD causes the phone to flash the camera LED, vibrate, or play a notification sound to use as a cue for the dreamer to hopefully notice in their dream. If they do that, they can fly around or do whatever they want now that they know they are dreaming.

www.zildapp.com

- Apmage86 (reddit)

Light my fire.

Guitar solo to Light my Fire by the Doors.

I'm actually pretty proud of this.

Here's an anecdote for you to chew on. That guitar I'm holding is a replica Gibson Les Paul, (my favorite guitars ever!) When I was first out and about, looking for a guitar to buy 6 years ago, I had my eyes on that beauty. Off white, custard trim, and black body? I even nicknamed it "pudding." I really, really wanted it. But I reckoned it was too expensive to get as a first guitar, so I ended up getting a starter Squier Stratocaster, (which is still alive with lots of wear and tear.)

But then, about 1 year and 6 months ago, my little bruv Tabish decided he wanted to learn how to play guitar too. ( =D ) So I ended up suggesting the pudding to him, and finally got to play it!

Now that I've typed all that out, it doesn't seem as cool as it did in my head, but I love guitars. And I love that pudding. And the dope amplifier that we bought for Tabish on his birthday this year. Oh, the sounds it makes. Makes my heart do flips, I love it. I'm going to miss this guitar in a few months. But I'll always be coming back to the pudding. And one day, I'm going to own a bunch of genuine Les Pauls. =] In red, in powder blue, and in cream white (preferably with brown trim.)